And Darling
by twosharks
Summary: "If there's one thing you've learned while being in that chair is that it's a lot harder to end a conversation by storming away" Based on vague spoilers for the prom episode for S3. Faberry. One-shot.


**A/N:** Where were all the feels about Quinn was she was laid up in the hospital? They better flashback the SHARK out of it later on.

**This is based on spoilers **for the prom episode though I obviously don't know how accurate they are anymore since Santana definitely did not sing to Quinn at the hospital and Quinn and Artie didn't kiss - as the Asari would say, thank the Goddess. Also this fic isn't very flattering or nice to Finn but it's not intended to be malicious or anything just... humourous.

Apologies in advance for the grammatical mix-ups, of which there are probably about four thousand in this fic... you'll know why by the end haha.

_Slightly AU from Quinn's return to school. _

Bit of a different style too, hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think of it :)

_x_

**And Darling.**

_You slip your hands inside my pockets_

_Tell me nothing else would do_

_Without me, you can't live and_

_You slip your heart into my chest_

_They both become one of the strongest pairs_

_When strangers come_

_x_

If there's one thing you've learned while being in that chair is that it's a lot harder to end a conversation by storming away, especially when there's a crowd of people who no longer part miraculously under the barest hint of a glare. It's even harder when the person you are attempting to get away from is one Finn Hudson, lumbering giant.

Even with all the time you've spent actively rolling around in that chair to get your arms strong, just in case, they're still no match for Finn's incredibly long strides. You're sure he could cross a mountain range in one step or, heck, be able to form a terribly unsupportive bridge across the Grand Canyon or something and you kind of wish Santana were here to insult him for you because you're trying really, _really_ hard not to be that person any more.

Unfortunately Santana is preoccupied. Either she's singing or dancing with her lady and while you could probably text her and she'd be over here in a nanosecond to get all Lima Heights up in Finn's face it's not really worth it. Besides, it's Finn Hudson. Surely you can handle him. You haven't lost your edge _that much_. Right?

"I'm tired of this!" He shouts, pulling on the handle of your wheelchair.

It's really unfair that you can do all of this work to get good at maneuvering around in this stupid chair and someone can yank all of your momentum away with a single tug. Granted, this time it's Finn but when Rachel Berry, the tiniest human being you've ever met in your entire life, can do it too then it's kind of really unfair.

"We already had this conversation Finn," you say, barely able to restrain the bite from your tone.

"It's been months and everyone is still tip-toeing around you like some sort of glass in that stupid chair." You'd like to think that you have no idea what's gotten him riled up to the point where he's actually trying to use a simile, but that would be a lie.

"Everyone?" You want to hiss it at him, scary you always got him to back off but it comes out a lot more defeated than you meant it to. Everyone has practically been ignoring the fact that you've been stuck in this thing for months now. They seemed all too happy to take your advice and not bother with dwelling on the fact that you just got your friggin' life back together - you had a future - and it was all torn away from you because you had a minor lapse in judgment because Rachel Berry was urgently texting you while you were on the way to _her_ wedding.

Admittedly it's still one hundred percent your fault because you chose to answer her texts and you're in love with her, though you didn't know that then, and you thought perhaps she was freaking out and telling you she couldn't go through with it and please have your car waiting outside the nearest exit when she legs it and... yeah. Definitely clouded your judgment.

Thank God for whoever invented airbags though. They legitimately saved your life and given the opportunity you would definitely break the mold you've cast for yourself and hug the shit out of them. And God too for giving you such a lithe frame, because you've seen your car and have no idea how you escaped it alive at all, let alone this intact. That's also why, despite her insistence, Rachel Berry will never be allowed to see the remnants of your car. She keeps claiming it will help her deal with it and put it behind her like you've been trying to insist she do but you know her better than that and it's not happening if you can help it.

You want to tell him all of this. Yell it at him maybe. Or at least the first part about everyone ignoring your situation, except Rachel and sometimes Artie - but then your cover would be completely blown. He and consequently everyone else would know that this brave face you've had on since you've been back was all a charade, a front, and they would all go back to that awkward phase of not looking you in the eye and Rachel would cry every time she glanced at you and - yeah, no.

It's been hard enough trying to desperately cling to that tiny spark of a future, the life you know is waiting for you out there, if everyone reverts to pity and guilt... you just need to keep it together so you can keep fighting.

"Kurt keeps telling me to leave it alone. Sam just looks at me and pats me on the shoulder. Santana just glares at me, like a lot, until Brittany pulls her away and I know Quinn, okay? I know, so give up the act."

He's still shouting which normally is amusing to you since this is the exact same tactic you've used over and over to badger someone into doing something you want or to deter them from doing something you don't want. This time, however, it's just annoying.

"What act Finn?" You challenge. Surely he's not going to do _this_ now surrounded by all of these people. They are still very preoccupied with the music and the swaying of their bodies but if Finn keeps shouting at you like you're next to an idling jet engine or next to the speakers at a dubstep set your 'conversation' isn't going to fly under the radar for much longer.

"Rachel postponed the wedding in some- some sort of, show of, togetherness or whatever."

You roll your eyes, "Solidarity?"

"Which was cool because I know she wants a big wedding and we were kind of rushing and everything and then she said she wanted to wait until you could walk again which, still - don't understand - but whatever, I was cool with that too and then," You wonder if he's ever just going to run out of words to throw out of his mouth, or if dating Rachel Berry has some sort of symbiotic side effect and he's contracted her rambling. Though on Rachel it's rather cute and causes this odd reaction in your face where you have to frown at her otherwise you'll be grinning so widely you're afraid you're going to break your face. On Finn it makes you hope a shark will break through the floor beneath him and swallow him whole.

"And then just last week she breaks up with me. She said all this stuff about her dreams and support or something and I said I was sorry and she accepted but wouldn't take me back so-"

He's not even looking at you any more which is good because while he's blathering away you don't have to try and hide your irritation. "So what does this have to do with me?" Crap, now his eyes are back on you, you clench your jaw to keep the irritated frown that's working on pulling your lips down at bay.

Breathe Quinn. You're calm, cool, collected. You're a new Quinn. A Quinn that doesn't snap at people even when they're being as ludicrous as Finn is. A Quinn that won't have a repeat of last years prom.

He throws his hands up like it should be obvious and maybe you do have some idea but his conclusions are probably a lot different than yours and jumping the gun on this will probably make a terrible mess of everything so for now you're sticking to your plan - you have no idea what he's going on about.

"I bought her a kitten Quinn. A kitten. How could she say no to that?" Maybe if he adopted it for her instead. Or a bunny. You feel like she and a bunny would be the perfect match for each other. Happy and incredibly high energy but with a little coaxing a big snuggler and - wait, what? Where did that come from? Stay on track Fabray.

"She's with you all the time and I don't know if you said something to her or if you still have a thing for me or-"

"A thing for you?" You want to tell him the only reason you ever had a thing for him was because he was good looking and the quarterback of the football team which granted you even more popularity points than you already had acquired on your own. There was also that whole appeal of stealing him away from Rachel and perhaps keeping him from dragging her away from her bright future because at least she was getting out of Lima. And then maybe there was that tiny issue of you trying to will away your feelings for said brunette by taking it upon yourself to try and ruin her life, which basically gave you a perfectly normal reason for obsessing about her a good majority of the time. But again, that would create a whole other mess so you just bite your tongue.

It doesn't matter though since he's not even listening to you at this point anyway, "-or what but I don't care, I just need you - I need you, to get up out of that chair-"

"Excuse me?" You don't even have time to fight your instinctual reaction this time, but it doesn't matter because Finn in mega ultra upset mode is like a tyrannosaurus rex on a rampage.

"Get up out of that chair," he repeats, yelling over you, "so I can get my girlfriend back."

You frown and shake your head incredulously. What the hell does you being in this chair correlate with whatever Finn's latest idiocy is towards Rachel? This is why you told Rachel you had no idea why you thought you loved some the boys you dated, because that's exactly what they are - _boys_. And okay, so maybe you really do have some idea of how this is all linked in a roundabout way but you don't see how Finn is linking this all in his brain. Unless you're just a convenient scapegoat.

"Get out of the chair." He says quietly.

Another head shake.

"Get out of the chair Quinn." This time it's more stern, his voice rising in volume again.

Your head continues to shake, you can't believe his audacity - does he have any- "I have no idea what yo-"

Finn's hand come up by his head and shake around in a gesture that you've come to know very well. "I know okay, I - _know_." You don't want him to hulk out and attempt to smash your wheelchair, especially with you in it and all so you wait for him to finish. "I know you can walk so stop _pretending_," he emphasizes, head jerking forward, "and get out of the chair."

Okay, that's enough. You've officially had enough of Finn Hudson and his dumb, ridiculous dumbness. He's lucky your legs don't work and he's got an, approximately, four foot height advantage on you because there is no way _Finn Hudson_ would _ever_ speak to you like this if you were standing and you could stare him down and place your hands effectively on your hips.

Though, you suppose, if your legs worked you wouldn't be having this conversation right now. You would probably be having a different conversation but the point is that outside of this chair you were big, you had sway and pull. Inside this chair you're small, powerless and invisible to everyone but Rachel freaking Berry.

Now you're wishing you had your cell phone with you because Santana would have ended this conversation seven minutes ago when he first tried to approach you or five minutes ago when you first wished for it to be over or right now and she would be ending it with her bad cop routine and Brittany holding her back with a firm arm wrapped around her waist.

But it's just you and Gigantor and you might as well try the tactic that didn't work the first time. I mean if at first you don't succeed, right? Your hands shift to your wheels in a completely unsubtle move - there's really no other way to do it - and Finn catches it and stoops down.

His hands land on the arms of your chair hard, jolting your body and pulling at that lingering phantom pain just behind where your ribs were severely bruised. "No, no. If you want to leave then get up and _walk_."

"Back off Finn," you growl. It seems to have no effect on him and it's kind of scary because you could always get him to cower without breaking a sweat and now he's in your space, upset and... well, a giant man baby.

He pulls on your chair, jerking it forward and you swallow thickly as your heart pulses oddly in your chest. "Get. Up." It's never really crossed your mind before but he could hurt you, really hurt you, if he wanted to. He's _so_ much bigger and stronger than you and-

"Finn!" A voice calls out. You can't really recognize it because your eyes are suddenly burning and your jaw is trembling and you just really, really need to get out of here.

Rachel Berry appears in front of you and is suddenly filling the space between you and Finn. You don't know how she's doing it, she's so small, but she's blocking you from view lecturing Finn in a voice you don't think you've ever heard Rachel Berry use. It's almost too much to believe because Rachel Berry is protecting you. _She_ is - _protecting_ -you.

While she has Finn completely distracted you take the opportunity to pull yourself away and make as quick an exit as you can. Which happens to be to the bathroom, the same one as last year and when you hear the door swing open and shut a few minutes after you enter you know exactly who it is.

"May I come in?" She asks timidly. You had just managed to pull yourself together and avoid the tears of last year but with a few simple words they're all back pooling in your eyes and threatening to fall. You don't want to cry in front of her, you're supposed to be strong and you can't help but feel a little bit guilty.

You pivot away from the sink to find she's slid in the space between the paper towel dispenser and the sink, "I'm sorry about Finn," she says playing with her hands. Your mind can't help but conjure up all the times those hands have absentmindedly touched you in the past few months. The months that Rachel Berry has taken it upon herself to become your very helpful shadow.

She wheels you to and from class, even though your arms work just fine. She takes it upon herself to fetch your books and get your lunch, even though your arms work just fine. She tells you she's vastly opposed to not only the consumption of any animal products but also in aiding anyone else in their endeavour to consume said animals but she makes an exception, in return you find yourself eating less and less bacon during lunchtime until your lunch matches hers in a way that both depresses you - the lack of bacon - and makes your chest tight . You force yourself to ignore Santana's ever growing obnoxious smirk in your direction every subsequent lunch hour.

Rachel also sits next to you during lunch, or rather you sit next to her since she's at a table with Kurt and Mercedes. She had parked you there your first day back while she had wandered off to get you both lunch claiming it would be more efficient this way seeing how she could get both of your lunches and Kurt or most likely Mercedes could protect her lunch while she wheeled you to your usual lunch spot. When she had returned that first day she was sucked into a heated debate with Kurt over the merits of Lady Gaga versus Barbra Streisand. The result of which was her forgetting to move you, even though your arms worked just fine you too were sucked in - just not by Barbra or Gaga.

She sits next to you in your shared classes and ends up joining you on the bus home after just a week. She, of course, can't in good conscience leave you to fend for yourself - even though your arms work just fine. Rachel walks you home from the bus stop, it only takes her three more days before she joins you before school too. It's without invitation or warning but oddly you don't mind. In fact it creates this odd sensation of warmth in your chest. Someone cares for you. Someone who isn't obligated to care for you cares for you and someone who probably shouldn't care for you, does.

The only time you actively refuse her company is when you go to physio, you don't want her to see how weak you feel without the use of your legs. How close to breaking it makes you feel every time you try to do your exercises and your legs just refuse to respond the way they have for the past seventeen years of your life.

But it's only twice a week, after school, and during school you do very much have a Rachel Berry shadow. Which brings you back to those hands that got you so off track in the first place. Those hands that gesticulate animatedly when she's not concerned with censoring herself or trying to put a lid on her habit of rambling. Something else you thought would annoy you but doesn't.

Rachel Berry was never really afraid of you, it's one of the things that annoyed you the most about her, but she did seem to attempt to keep her mouth relatively shut around you. Something which has disappeared altogether since becoming glued to you. When you stop pretending her talking annoys you and you give up the facade of frowning you find you actually really like it when she talks.

And _boy_, can she talk.

If it were at all possible she definitely would have talked your ears off by now, you don't know how any one person can have so much to say all of the time. It's endearing and you hate it, but not really. You love the way she gets so wrapped in the topic she's discussing, she's so enthusiastic and it's infectious. She talks in a way that pulls you in. So much so that when she touches you casually for the first time since gaining your Rachel Berry shadow you're completely unprepared for it.

It's just a brush of her hand over the skin of the top of your arm, followed by a light squeeze as she pulls away to collect your books for your next class - she knows your locker combination off by heart now - but it makes your lungs stutter in your chest and heat fans out from the point of contact. Thankfully she doesn't notice your jagged intake of air, too lost in recounting the time her dads let her give them makeovers.

_Those hands._

It only escalates from there, you know she's not doing it on purpose. It's just fleeting moments. Nothing significant. It's probably "normal" but for you - _Quinn Fabray_ - it feels anything but and you can't help but notice each and every contact. Your body can't help but react.

It's probably a product of growing up in a household where hugs were reserved for things related to balls or pageants or other formal occasions and even then it was usually other people touching you. Very rarely did your parents show you any physical affection. You suppose that it comes naturally to a person like Rachel Berry, growing up with two very supportive, loving dads and living in a household where you were absolutely the product of love and not just a requirement of fulfilling the perfect family household image. You imagine all the hugs she got growing up and it makes you a bit jealous, but mostly just sad. When you think about it you crave that contact, nothing would make you happier than being able to snuggle so carelessly during a horror movie marathon but who is going to let you learn how? And who is going to want you if you don't get better?

Rachel Berry slowly breaks you down and rebuilds you.

She's been slowly wearing away at you for years now. Always responding to you in the same way, always willing to extend an offer of friendship. Now that it's here you don't really have any defenses against her. Especially with her touching you here and there.

A hand on your shoulder when she hands you your books. Both hands on your arms as she parks you and goes to grab you both lunch. A hand gently squeezing your forearm as she retrieves your pen that has fallen off your desk. Her fingers combing absentmindedly through the ends of your hair while she stands behind you talking with Tina and Mercedes before Glee club.

A month into your newly found friendship she hugs you rather tightly before you head off to physio. Her small arms squeezing you while her head buries in your neck. The smell of fruit wafts over you. It's an oddly intriguing combination of fruit like mango and pomegranate and you find yourself frozen, heat blooming in your chest and burning your cheeks while your arms hang dead in your lap.

From that moment onward she hugs you every time before you leave for physio and you slowly progress from it causing a deer in the headlights reaction, to a hand tentatively on her waist, to barely on her back, to both hands until finally one day you're returning her hug with an equal amount of force. You don't miss the way she sighs and sinks against you before pulling back.

After a particularly rough session of physiotherapy you find yourself slumped rather pathetically in one corner of the couch with your arms flung out carelessly. Your uncooperative legs lay lifeless across the footrest and it only serves to make you feel that much worse. The only reason you're here instead of holed up in your room murdering people - usually Finn and Puck - in Modern Warfare 3 to alleviate your frustration is because it's this week's designated movie night.

Even though you protested, Rachel Berry persisted. How could you expect anything less? She cited the importance of following through on one's commitments and relayed to you her extensive schedule of extracurricular activities, volunteer work, vocal lessons and dance classes and if she didn't do something mindless for a few hours she might explode and, "Do you really want that on your conscience Quinn Fabray?"

It was all very melodramatic and you knew exactly what she was doing but nevertheless you didn't make it known you had seen through her poorly fabricated argument based around whether or not Rachel Berry was an actual ticking time bomb and here she is on your couch. She's sitting with enough distance between you to give you your space, you're grumpy and oddly she's one of the only people who respects that, but your hand is unknowingly bridging that gap given the sad way you maneuvered yourself half onto the cushion and then collapsed with a grumble.

Twenty minutes into the movie with your frown still etched heavily into your face you feel a small smooth hand slide tentatively into yours. All your anger and all your frustration is suddenly unweighting itself and rising high to flutter in your chest. It's cracking and turning in on itself, the hostile emotions giving way to the real feeling underneath it. You feel like crying.

Rachel doesn't look at you and you're thankful. Her eyes remain steadily fixed on the screen, her thumb rubbing gently across the skin of your hand, slowly soothing you. Five minutes later when you hesitantly grip back, a silent thank you, her hand shifts in yours. Briefly you panic, fearing the loss of contact that has been grounding you and all the emotions roaring through you, but it fades and is replaced with an altogether different feeling when her fingers slip into the space between yours.

It's when you know this is more than friendship for you, you've never really wanted friendship from her and maybe that's been the problem all along. Everything you've done in the past has been because of the feelings you've never known how to categorize. Nor did you want to. But sitting like this, vacantly watching a movie that even though it was her turn to pick you know she picked for you - cause honestly Rachel Berry? Transformers 3? Knowing that she _gets_ you, she's maybe the only one who really does, and having her hold your hand - it's undeniable. There is no other truth.

All of the things you've done in the past... you don't know how it wasn't obvious before this. Even protesting their marriage so vehemently, it all points to one thing. But she's not yours and you don't want to get in the way of her because Rachel Berry is destined for great things, so you let it go. Or try to.

A week later you're tucked into the same corner of the couch. This time, however, you're less horizontal and more upright and looking forward to watching a movie. It could be because it's not a physio day, so there's none of those emotions to contend with, just a nice evening with a friend and a - hopefully - good movie.

Rachel is quieter than usual. She lets herself in as always, always being since that time she demanded you stop expending so much energy to simply greet her at the door when she could just as well - with your permission of course - let herself in, and smiles at you as she takes up her spot on the couch. Her smile is still bright but it comes across as more practiced than genuine. You watch her surreptitiously as you browse the movies and frown as she seems to fold in on herself, the couch practically swallowing her small form. You don't push however or ask her what's wrong, you know if you just wait a bit she'll rupture like a fault line and everything will come spilling out willingly.

Eventually you settle on some disgusting Family Channel Disney movie that you know she just loves and even though you complain endlessly about how terrible they are you secretly get absolutely sucked into them too, though you'll probably never admit that. Two minutes into it she breaks. Tears pile down her face and her body shakes with the sobs she can't quite control.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles, in unnecessary apology.

You open your arms but she just sits there staring at you with tears rolling down her beautiful face. It makes your heart ache so you just gruffly order her to "C'mere," in order to get her ass moving.

She stands awkwardly and smooths her skirt before stepping towards you and very gently sitting beside you. You turn, as best you can, and scoop her up pulling her body into yours. She sinks against your side, tears leaking onto your shoulder and grips desperately at both the front and back of your shirt, hands fisting in the material.

In between sobs and broken sentences she tells you she's broken up with Finn. She babbles about how she's a terrible person and she loves Finn, she does, but she can't give up on her dreams. It's been her dream to be on Broadway since before she could even fathom how big a dream that really was and she tried, she really did, to support Finn with his dream but he just made her feel terrible for having any dreams of her own. Like it was her fault she already had a path carved out for her in life.

She also tries to tell you how terribly she feels about ruining your life but you won't have any of that. You tell her firmly once that it's not her fault, it will never be her fault and you will never, ever blame her for the situation you're in and then hug her with all your salt. You allow your fingers to comb through her hair and she acquiesces.

Slowly, her body relaxes into yours. Her fists relinquish their grip of your shirt and eventually lay flat. You watch the rest of the movie curled together like that, both of you drawing strength from each other. It feels perfect. It's the best evening you've ever had.

You knew then, with her body tucked so perfectly into yours that you were going to have to force yourself to wait. To wait until your future was as bright as hers to even realistically entertain the thoughts you can't help but have every time she's around you. Thoughts of kissing her and telling her how you feel. To wait until your legs obey you like they always have so you can tell her you've dreamed of this moment, where you stand - _stand_ - and tell her every time you feel like giving up you think of the future and the person she makes you want to be. And even if you can't have her, even if she won't let you be hers - even though you already are - it's because of her that you are where you are and you'll be forever grateful to her. You'll always be there for her, even if it's only as a friend for as long as she'll let you.

But patience is virtue and it's something you've not mastered, especially when it comes to Rachel Berry.

You couldn't wait for her to post a new video to MySpace, you'd often be the first to view it - and the first to leave a nasty comment. You couldn't wait to join Glee club to keep her and Finn away from each other. You couldn't wait to pull Finn back away from her once she had him. You couldn't wait to try and drag her down to your level so the playing field would be even, but she always rose above.

You couldn't wait to see her slushied every day with the mixture of ice and syrup dripping down her face into her shirt - until it happened to you that is. You couldn't wait to see her mad at Jesse or Puck or Finn, her ire made you smile - secretly of course. You couldn't wait until you were at home to draw a horribly inaccurate caricature of her while doodling forty-seven hearts around it without your brains expressed written permission. You couldn't wait to be back in glee club - after she had asked you back. You couldn't wait to tell her that you didn't out Shelby because of her. You couldn't wait to tell her that you got into Yale - that she was right, there is a lot more to you than just a pretty face.

You couldn't wait to answer her text.

And you can't wait now while she leans against the wall apologizing for Finn's behavior, like it's somehow her fault he acts like toddler whose favorite toy has just been ripped from his fingers. You can't wait for your legs to stop being so difficult about things because this is prom and Nationals aren't too far off which means graduation is around the corner and if Rachel goes to New York without knowing how you feel you don't know how you could ever win her over from that city or frankly when you'd find the time in her schedule to do so.

You unintentionally cut her off by flicking the brakes on your chair and bracing your - now impossibly strong - arms against the metal of its arms. She moves to take a step forward when your leg wiggles and she realizes what you're trying to do but you stop her when you bite out a hard, "No."

It makes you cringe and your features immediately soften to add an apologetic, "Just... stay there." Rachel's face contorts in twelve different shades of concern but nevertheless she heeds your request and stays apprehensively rooted in place.

You've done this what seems like a thousand times in physio, enough to make you loathe doing it every week but it's never seemed this important before. You've never been so nervous either. As your left foot touches the floor your leg jerks to life, muscles firing on and off in a semi-spasm as it wakes from it's slumber. It takes a bit to get them going but you _know_ they work and aren't about to allow them to do otherwise. At least, not today. Not _now_.

Rachel waits patiently, hands wringing constantly as you work yourself slowly to your feet. When you finally make it completely upright and free of that damn chair she jaggedly breathes out your name, tears pooling in her deep brown eyes. The guilt comes back a touch but you push it away.

Carefully you trek forward. Most of your weight pressed through your right hand which grips the sinks as you move along. You're not supposed to be doing this but it's too important to wait and you figure the extra incentive can only help inspire the lower half of your body to work harder at recovering.

It's feel like you're running a marathon even though Rachel is probably only three good steps away. With your legs it's somewhere around eight or more very unstable steps. Each step is a conversation between your brain and your legs. Telling it to move, telling it to stop, to brace, to take weight, transfer, repeat. By the end you're out of breath and your legs are out of juice.

Finn was right, your legs work. They just don't work like he imagines they do.

There's no magic day where you wake up and suddenly you forget your spine was compressed in a car accident and you catch yourself halfway down the hallway under your own power.

No, every morning you wake up and feel the dead weight of your sleepy legs and you frantically check to make sure you didn't lose them in the crash. The nightmares about it probably don't help matters. Once the blankets are thrown haphazardly off your body and you can confirm that they are indeed there you work on wiggling your toes. Once they obey you you move on to flexing your feet and before you know it it's a half an hour later and you've worked through most of your daily physio exercises without realizing it.

So here and now you are well aware of the exhaustion in your legs - it's a little disheartening to fully realize _just_ how much muscle has atrophied in a few short months - and well aware of the fact that if you don't grab something soon to support yourself you, Quinn Fabray, will be on your ass. You've passed the last sink and well into Rachel Berry's personal space near the wall and there's really only one thing directly in your path so she'll have to do.

You grip her hips in an effort to steady yourself and take some of the weight off your wobbly legs. The contact is unexpected and you find yourself falling against her as your hands press her back into the wall. She gasps and you can't help but lick your lips as you watch her pupils blossom outward, dilating under the pressure of your fingers in her skin. It might be a wise idea to hold onto her anyway so she won't be able to run on you after your confession.

Her arms latch onto your forearms in an effort to help steady you or possibly herself at your sudden proximity. Your gaze drifts down to her wonderfully soft looking lips, it's now or never.

"I like you, Rachel Berry," you rumble out.

You don't wait for her to reply before leaning down to capture her lips but you feel her smile against you as you kiss her and suddenly you're not so worried about your future not being bright enough or needing to steal her away from that city where all her dreams lie because maybe, just maybe, you might be the start of another.

_x_


End file.
